25 Days of Drabbles
by Miyo86
Summary: It's the most wonderful time of the year! Stay tuned as the Winchesters face festive poisonings, battle christmas trees...bake cookies? Each drabble is dedicated to a member of the E/O challenge. Today's cuteness dedicated to Micaiah.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Welcome to my Winchester Winter wonderland! Here you will find festive frivolity, holiday hurt and Christmas cuddles. Everyday until Christmas I will post a drabble in honor of one of the fantastic people I have gotten to play the E/O challenge with and have shown me such support. Consider this a holiday thanks for all of your support! And while I will try to cater to preferences…Come on, we all know I would have 25 hurt/comfort drabbles and nothing else XD

Disclaimers: I don't own them, but I asked the mall Santa for two boys wrapped in ribbons…we'll see what happens.

Today is dedicated to: Nana56 : )

****************

It was the jingle bells he found tied to his shoe laces. The way his shampoo and shaving cream suddenly smelled like peppermint.

After almost skewering his behind on a pair of distinctly sharp plastic reindeer antlers, Sam swiped the toy off the passenger seat and glared at his brother.

"Dude, you can cut it out. I get it-It's December. So what?"

"Sounds like somebody woke up on the Scrooge-ish side this morning."

"You made me smell like a candy cane. Spill already." Dean grinned despite his brother's grumpy attitude, and gave a casual shrug.

"I dunno. It's just, this could be the best Christmas we've had in a while. I'm not headed downstairs, you're not sneaking off to drink blood- sounds like reasons to celebrate to me."

"You want to make merry with the world falling down around our ears?"

"Why not? We've even got our own angel-though he's not exactly tree topper material."

"Bobby's in a wheelchair."

"Big jolly guy with a beard! Ok…maybe not so jolly…don't tell him I said that…"

Sam huffed, and rolled his eyes.

"There was a 8.2 earthquake yesterday in Indonesia. Five floods, two tornadoes and a forest fire and that's just the west coast this week." He listed morosely. "And lets not forget, the most powerful of all fallen angels and creator of demons wants to _take me over and walk around in my skin. _ The Apocalypse takes precedence over festivities don't you think? We've had a lot of crappy holidays - why should this one be any different?"

The frustration in his brother's voice made Dean blink, idly tapping the steering wheel and looking down at his lap.

"Because maybe I want it to be," Dean murmured under his breath, though not quietly enough for Sam to miss what he was saying. Sam turned in his seat, detecting the atmosphere in the car shift as Dean's tone became more defensive.

"Maybe I just want a holiday that doesn't suck, ok? I mean, its not like we do Easter, your birthday's shot to hell and November's been screwed up forever..." He swallowed hard, trailing off.

'_And it just got worse'_ Sam mentally finished for him, wincing at the fresh, bitter memory. The 11th month of the year was deadly for women they cared about.

"I know we can't forget about the Big Bad out there and that it's our fault for unleashing it or pretend everything's peachy keen. I just needed to lighten things up. Just for a little bit. Can you let me do that?" The younger Winchester bit his lip, embarrassed to have taken the wind out of his brother's sails. Taking their minds off of Doomsday might not be such a bad thing.

"We can do that." He answered softly.

It was in the Bing Crosby tape Dean found shoved in the player after a gas station pit stop a hundred miles farther down the road. In the way Dean allowed it to play _both sides_ before the tape met its end on highway 53.

In how they both mangled the words to White Christmas, but laughed anyway.

In all these little ways, it was clear: Christmas had come to the Winchesters


	2. It must have been the Mistletoe

A/N: To those of you who responded to yesterday's a/n- I too love h/c, but they can't be hurt all the time…even I'm not that mean! But to appease the masses, here is some gratuitous painful Dean!

Disclaimer: There is neither a 'Kripke' nor an 'MD' at the end of my name. 'Nuff said.

December 2nd

Dedicated to: Muffy Morrigan

*******

The spedometer reading was at least 25 miles over the speed limit, but it still seemed Sam couldn't get the classic car moving fast enough. Nothing short of teleportation was fast enough when his brother was suffering, and Cas was conspicuously absent. Letting out a nervous breath, he reached one hand over and rubbed the back of Dean's neck.

Dean was bent over sideways in the passenger seat, mashing short blonde spikes of hair into the vinyl. His arms crossed over his violently roiling stomach as he let out intermittent growls and grunts of pain.

"Stupid…teetotaling…tree nymph…"

"Hang on, bro. Hospital's only ten minutes away."

Dean defiantly struggled to get upright, palms sinking into the cushioning.

"Mo-" He cut off, shuddering, stomach spasming in agony.

"Mo-ped? Molar? Mojave desert?" Sam raised an eyebrow. "Because I know the next word out of your mouth couldn't possibly be 'motel'. Couldn't be. I know we're good at first aid, but mistletoe poisoning is out of my league."

"Shouldn't have had…the tea. Rookie mistake." Closing his eyes, Dean felt Sam's warm fingers massage his shoulder but couldn't find the energy to tell him to back off. It felt kind of good anyway, and was a minor distraction from the pain.

"You were just trying to get her to talk. You didn't know." And neither had he, which ate at Sam like nothing else.

The case had started as a batch of mysterious deaths belonging to a logging company in the northwest. Old growth forest was apparently a controversial, and in this case deadly, subject. Splitting up the interviews had simply seemed like saving time, Dean's only complaint afterward about an old woman who insisted he join her for refreshments before answering any questions about the woods behind her home. Sam had already begun narrowing down possible creatures when the stomach cramps started, but it had taken forever to immobilize the dryad and even longer to identify which trees amongst thousands was hers. It had been a tall birch, complimented by a patch of one of the only plants still green this time of year: mistletoe.

_Trust a dryad to have a seasonal sense of humor,_ Sam thought.

Drawing his legs up to his chest, Dean shook his head miserably and changed his tactics to wheedling.

"Don't wanna…drink charcoal…gross..."

"I know it's nasty dude, but its standard procedure. It's been too long to get your stomach pumped." A part of Sam hurt that this wasn't the first time Dean had been drugged or poisoned.

The car rolling to a stop announced that Dean was out of options. He grimaced, fighting the rising bile and backwash taste of the acidic tea.

"You're buying me…eggnog…after this. Without the egg."

"Isn't that just rum?"

"Exactly."


	3. Oh Tannenbaum

A/N: Switching gears from festively ill Dean…to festively hurt Sam *shakes head* It's hard to balance 'fluff' when we all like 'hurt'! For some reason I have Maybe I'll sneak in something tomorrow…

December 3rd

Today is dedicated to: IheartSam7 : )

********

Two slashes of the machete and Dean was free, anxiously rushing over to Sam. He was relieved to see his brother already crawling out from under the massive pine tree. He crouched down, concerned. Abrasions covered Sam's face and hands, along with two trickles of blood flowing from his nostrils. Needles and tree sap littered his brother's hair and smaller branches stuck to his coat, poked out of clothes holes and the back of his shirt. He looked like a Winchester wreath.

"You've definitely got the holiday colors down."

"Hunhh?"

"Plenty of green. Way too much red."

Sam tried to sniff back the liquid flowing from his nose, knocked back on his butt by the sharp hurt of shifting cartilage. A hand flew to cover his nose as he let out a loud hiss in pain.

"Heyheyhey, easy. " Dean reached forward to inspect the injury.

"Ger off," Sam muttered, bloody nose making his sound stuffy and congested.

His left ankle throbbed painfully in time with his pulse, his head was pounding and blood streamed down his nose and over his lips. The last thing Sam felt up to at the moment was Dean pawing all over him.

"I can't help if I don't know how bad it is, Sammy. Let me see." Dean coaxed soothingly, turning one of his best weapons on his brother. Sam had his puppy dog eyes, Dean had a tone of voice tender with the continual promise of protection. _I'll make it better._ At least to his brother's ears.

Sam let out a breath but took his hand down from his face, submitting to Dean's examination.

Gentle hands swept over his brother's face, checking Sam's eyes for concussion, brushing softly across the scratches on his cheeks.

"That Christmas tree definitely got a few good licks in. Douglas pine is vicious- who knew?"

"Wasn' my fauld. Tree'd not supposa be alive."

"Yeah- sorcerers kinda suck that way. Hacking down those thorn bushes he animated wasn't a barrel of laughs for me either."

Running light fingers over the swollen mass of flesh that was his brother's injured nose, Sam flinched when he found the point where the cartilage split and he winced in sympathy.

"Definitely broken." Dean concluded, putting a handkerchief in his brother's hand and guiding it back against his face, using mild pressure to stop the bleeding. "That's gonna be a bitch to set, but not until we get some painkillers in you." He helped Sam up, allowing him to lean into his shoulder.

" 'nd a shower." Sam added stuffily. "I habe pine needles pokink me eberywhere."

"On the other hand, you'll probably be pine scented for a while. You're like a Sasquatch sized air freshener."

"Yar compassion knowd no bounds."

"Or we could put you in the corner and throw a little tinsel on you. String some popcorn, put a star on top..."


	4. Christmas Cookies

A/N: So we've had a few days of hurt, lets get some Christmas cuteness going : ) And maybe its just me, but the image of Dean wearing an apron covered in flour is just the cutest thing…

December 4

Dedicated to: LivingForTv : )

*******

It would probably look like a merrily decorated gingerbread man to an unsuspecting child- his hat at a jaunty angle, one hand molded around a piece of candy can that tapered to a sharp point. But the youngest Winchester knew his brother better than that.

"Seriously, you made a batch of tiny gingerbread hookmen? Isn't that a little twisted?" Sam asked incredulously, but couldn't keep the smile out of his voice.

"What was that, geek boy?" Dean said, looking up from where he was dutifully pressing shapes into a sheet of dough. A Santa shaped cookie cutter was in his right hand. "I can't hear you. That fugly green paisley apron you're wearing is too loud."

"Ha. Ha." Sam replied, tugging on the afore mentioned article of clothing. "This was the biggest one they had. The aprons in this place only fit little old ladies."

"That's because the only people making cookies in a Rec center kitchen at 7am usually _are _little old ladies. It's your fault we're stuck playing Susie Homemaker in the first place."

"It was _your_ case!"

"And this is _your_ lead! I'm not the one who volunteered to bake 12 dozen cookies." Dean groused, pressing his lips together in concentration as he covered another tray of sugary cutouts in sprinkles.

Sam slipped on a pair of blue oven mitts and carefully pulled out a pan of reindeer, setting it on a rack. When his brother's back was turned, Dean struck, snatching a cookie ersatz deer from Sam's pile and irreverently biting the head off.

"Look we agreed that whatever this creature is, it's tied to the center right? All three victims were members for years, and the Christmas bake sale is one of their biggest events. This way we have a legitimate excuse to be there around the most people and get in some snooping."

"I'm not knocking your detective work, Sammy. I'm just saying when the manager told you they were short on baked goods you could have just made a donation or something. You didn't have to be so earnest about helping." Dean wiped his forehead, inadvertently smearing it with powdered sugar. Sam snickered, watching his brother start another bowl of batter.

"Dude, did you just put the sugar in with those eggs?"

"Yeah, it's right there on the ingredient list. 4 eggs, oil, sugar, salt- "

"Yeah, but you're supposed to combine dry and liquid separately, then mix them. Here, let me."

"I'm doing fine, Betty Crocker. Go OCD over your own batter."

"C'mon, gimme the bowl." Sam reached for the plastic container, which only made Dean hold onto it more tightly.

"No!"

"Just-give-guh-" There was a brief struggle over it, which Dean ultimately won…at the cost of Sam letting go at an inopportune moment. The bowl tipped, splattering its contents over Dean's pants and shoes.

"..And that's why you wear an apron?" Sam offered lamely as Dean tried to wipe away the goey mess off of his clothes.

"Ah man, that egg's never gonna come off of my boots!" Dean snarled.

"Dean, I'm s-" His apology was lost in the cloud of flour as Dean's retaliation rained down over his head.

Sam wiped his eyes, blinking several times to clear them, his face set in a frown as Dean laughed.

"You are so dead." He muttered, and tackled his brother flat.

Three bags of spilt sugar, one carton of eggs, two burnt batches of cookies and one gigantic mess later, the legendary 'Christmas food fight of '09' would come to an end.


	5. If you just believe

A/N: The Weechesters make their first appearance of the season ^.^ Dean is 11, Sammy 7. I apologize for this being late. Almost getting frostbite at work will do that to you.

December 5th

Dedicated to: Sidjack : ) (Who recently had a birthday I believe!)

*********

"He's too old to be doing this."

"Doing what?" Pastor Jim asked, shedding his coat as he came into his living room after delivering Christmas Eve services. He had sent the two youngest Winchester's home after Sam had dragged a reluctant Dean to the children's pageant earlier that same day. John had left the boys in his care for the time being. A skin walker in Ohio demanded his attention. "I thought you boys would be in bed by now."

"Sammy's asleep, if that counts." Dean motioned to his brother from his perch on the muted green couch. The younger boy lay curled up in front of the hearth, a blanket thrown over his shoulders. Fire glow reflected back a contented smile on his face.

There was a glass of 2% milk and a plate of chocolate chip cookies on the wooden coffee table.

"He waits up every year like clockwork, even if the place we're staying doesn't have a fireplace. Dad thinks it's ridiculous-he's got to be the only kid in 2nd grade who still believes in Santa. I don't know what to do."

Jim nudged Dean's legs out of the way and sat down lightly beside him.

"So you want advice on how to get a child to stop believing in a man who dispenses gifts, watches over the good and bad actions of man kind, and can be present all around the world in one night." He offered Dean a bemused glance over his spectacles. "Son, you've read my job description, right?" The pre-teen just gave him a look. "Have you spoken to Samuel about this?"

"Dad's told him it's just a fairytale, but I don't think it got through."

"Ah- but have _you_ told him?" Jim asked. "You must know your brother takes your word as gospel. He might be disappointed, but he would trust you."

"I..just..sorta go along with Sam." Dean blushed slightly and glanced away, embarrassed that he couldn't break the news- that he was unwilling to rob that piece of childhood naiveté' from his younger brother. "I mean, I stopped believing along time ago, but Sammy's still little, you know?" The pastor nodded, as if Dean's response was exactly what he had expected- Dean was usually indulgent of Sam's point of view, even if he disagreed.

"Sam's not the only one waiting up for someone though, is he?" Jim said knowingly and tried to be reassuring. "I realize your dad's a week late, but he is nothing if not resourceful."

It hadn't been something they talked about as his father's predicted deadline flew by, but Jim knew it worried Dean, no matter how brave a face he put on for his brother's sake. Dean let out a small sigh.

" It's not like he's never been late from a hunt but he hasn't even called. He's missed Christmas before, I just wish I knew where he was."

"Sounds like you could use a little of that belief you say you've given up. Keeping a little faith can make all the difference in the world."

"Is that really what you think?" Dean drew his eyebrows together. It almost hurt to see the older boy becoming so jaded this early in life.

"I think there are more forces of good in creation then we can imagine. If we have to give one a name and dress him up in a red fur suit to remind us of the virtues of generosity and outreach, I feel there can still be a divine hand in that. It's always been the faith that matters." He patted Dean's knee. "And I truly believe that there is someone who watches over men like your father and keeps them as safe as possible."

Dean shrugged noncommittally, glancing over at Sam again as he let out a small snore.

Ordinarily he would have scoffed at the preaching, but worry and longing for his Dad had left his walls a bit softer than normal.

"Maybe," was all he offered in reply as Jim rose to leave and clapped a hand on the boy's shoulder.

"Maybe nothing. I'll be setting four places for Christmas diner and I expect them all to be filled." He gave Dean's shoulder a squeeze. "Get some sleep. Good night, Dean."

"Night Jim…and thanks, I guess."

Left alone in the living room, Dean returned to his vigil, casting his gaze between the unmoving front door and his brother's slumbering form. He envied Sammy's ability to sleep so soundly, a part of him wishing he could be so at ease.

Taking the afghan off of the back of couch, he added it to the blanket already covering Sam, tucking it tightly around him before laying down between his brother and the flickering fire. He drew his little brother close, as if through physical proximity he could share some of his brother's faith in something good-something right, safe and worthy of trust-things brutally rare in their way of life, but especially needed now.

'_Just keep Dad safe, please…'_ Dean murmured before drifting off.

In that fuzzy, magic time of Christmas morning before the sun starts to rise, Dean roused briefly with a shiver. The temperature had dropped over night and though carpeted, the parsonage floor was still cold. Something warm and smelling of leather settled over his shoulders as a hand rested on top of his head.

"Merry Christmas, Ace," a familiar voice whispered in the semi-darkness. Dean felt his eyes burn and perhaps, on today of all days, he could admit to himself it wasn't lingering smoke from the fire's embers that caused them to water.

There are some things you are never too old to believe in.


	6. Reach for the Light

A/N: Gah. Playing catch up here. I'm so sorry for falling behind on this, but work this past week just tired me out (And froze my fingers, making it hard to type!) I'm sure by now we all know what this authoress likes in her drabbles so don't be surprised to find it here ; P

Disclaimer: I don't own the boys and I don't know what the weight allowance for a string of lights is…we'll just say these are industrial strength.

December 6

Dedicated to: Enkidu07! She puts the E in E/O challenge!

*********

Bill Patterson had won the Dale Springs homeowners association award for best holiday spirit three years in a row. Hours were spent hanging bobbles, meticulously straightening rows of glowing candy canes, spelling out 'Merry Christmas' on his roof in flashing multicolor.

His home was beautiful. It would have won again.

It was also a week's worth of work that the Winchesters managed to destroy in less than twenty minutes.

Dean had to admit, garroting a Chupacabra with strands of blinking lights was a first. Hanging from the roof of a second story building, not so much. The monster had fallen to the snow covered ground in an unceremonious heap of cord and claws, while Dean had managed to tangle himself in lights to avoid a similar fate. Pointed plastic sockets dug into his waist and the cord tugged painfully at his injured left arm. The joint shifted and Dean felt fire spread across his limb. The Patterson's roof now read 'rry stmas.'

Sam scrambled carefully across icy shingles until he reached the edge, peering down at his brother.

"Dean! Are you ok?" Dean let out a relieved breath at the sight of his brother, despite the pain.

"A little tired of looking like a part of the décor, but I'm alright. Better than Mr. Goatsucker down there. How about you?"

"Not a scratch." Sam quickly glanced around, weighing his options. "You want up or down?"

"Give me some slack and I'll repel down." There was now way Dean was going to be able to climb back up using only his right arm. Sam nodded, unraveling the two r's and helped lower his brother to the ground before making his way back into the house.

As soon as Dean's feet touched the ground he wavered, using his good arm to steady himself against the house. Even the slightest movement of his other appendage made his head spin and he leaned into the siding for a moment, trying to regain his equilibrium. The next few minutes passed in blurry stillness until he heard the sound of approaching footsteps, muted by the fresh snow. Sam sighed when he caught sight of his brother's unsteadiness and pale face, cradling his arm.

"Why do I even bother asking?" Irritation and concern melded in his voice. "You never tell me the truth first time around. C'mon, sit down." The sound of Dean grinding his teeth together was audible as Sam helped him. The eldest Winchester banged his head against the side of the house to distract himself as his brother focused on the obvious source of Dean's pain.

"The bone's not broken, but your elbow's dislocated." Sam announced after gently palpitating the area, checking the pulse in the affected wrist. "Pulse is weak but detectable. Can you move all of your fingers?"

"Sadist," Dean growled without heat, testing the digits one by one.

Sam visibly relaxed at the satisfactory results.

"Alright, no nerve or tendon damage then. A simple dislocation."

"Simple for who?" Dean muttered darkly, tamping down the nausea that threatened to rise. Sam deftly grasped the humerus of his brother's arm in one hand and the radius and ulna in the other, preparing to reduce the injury.

"This isn't going to be fun for either of us." He offered in apology.

"Just do it, Sam. Swelling is just going to get worse."

"Maybe we should let a professional-" Sam started.

"No time. Family will be back soon and we have still have a body to burn."

"Ok, but you need to keep your arm relaxed. On three?"

"Right."

"One, two,thr-" Dean tensed in anticipation of pain, but it never came. Sam just kept counting. "-ee, four,five,six.."

"What are you doing?"

"Seven,eight,nine,ten…" Dean was getting both annoyed and confused. Not a good combination when he was also in pain.

"Stop messing around."

"Eleven, twelve, thirteen," Sam counted and Dean breathed out.

"How long are you going to-"

"Fourteen-" Agony shot through his left side and white blinded his vision.

The next things he was aware of were the smell of roasting flesh and finding himself cushioned in his brother's lap.

"That trick's only going to work once, you know." Dean groused as his head cleared, blinking up at Sam. His younger brother smirked.

"That's all it had to. Let's get you too the car." Sam helped Dean to his feet, looping his good arm over his shoulders. Together they navigated the lawn covered in toppled Santa figurines and fallen holiday topiary.

"Shame about the guys decorations though." Dean mused as broken ornaments crushed under their feet.

"Yeah- I've heard deconstruction really doesn't go over well with the judges."


	7. Friendly Beasts

A/N: Still playing catch up…maybe I'll be on top of these things by Christmas *rolls eyes* On another note, while other Christmas hymns rank as my favorites, I still have a special fondness for the one this chapter's named after : )

December 7th

Dedicated to: Micaiah

*******

Christmas was, according to Dean, a 'suck-tacular time of year to find out you're being haunted, especially if you're a church.'

The bishop agreed in sentiment, if not vernacular, and left the boys to their work with a blessing. EMF meters beeping quietly, the Winchesters scanned the doors, stained glass windows, up and down aisles of wooden pews. The tinny electric whine was enough to announce a lingering aura, but did not scream loudly as if the was an active presence. Passing rows of candles and holiday boughs, Sam and Dean made their way up the center aisle to the front of the church. One side of the pulpit was taken up by a large, finely painted porcelain nativity, perhaps one half life size. No sign of activity there either.

Sam turned his attention to the altar, while Dean's stayed focused on the stable, particularly one of the animals. Under his breath he began to hum a tune more mellow than anything he ever (willingly) played in the Impala.

_I said the donkey shaggy and brown_…

The line from so long ago he was surprised he remembered it. He reached a hand out and lightly stroked the donkey's ears.

I carried his mother up hill and down…

"Dude, you have a sudden statuary fetish I need to know about?"

"Huh?" Yeah, that sounded intelligent. He shook his head, bringing himself back to the present. Sam gave him an annoyed glance.

"Seriously, you've been petting that thing for almost three minutes. Where'd you're head go?"

"It's nothing, just a… nice memory."

I carried his mother to Bethlehem town…

"About farm animals? Cause I might not want to hear this…"

"About mom." Sam's expression did an about face, his tone eager.

"Tell me?"

"We're doing a job-this isn't story time."

"Please?" Perhaps it wasn't intentional, but this time Dean noticed the bottom lip that stuck farther out, how Sam's head tilted down slightly more, the ways his eyes got wide and bright. Shaking his head, he held up a hand in surrender, mumbling something under his breath about the misuse of puppy dog eyes.

"Alright, alright, put it away before someone calls the ASPCA on me for animal abuse."

Dean Winchester would never be described as maudlin- he did not start his story on a pitying note about his mother's 'last Christmas' or something just as drippy and tragic. Instead Dean simply began where he always did- including his brother.

"It was the year mom was pregnant with you, Sammy, and man was she happy the first trimester was over. I swear you must have been playing twister or something in there for the first three months, as bad as her morning sickness got. But by December she was feeling well enough to direct the children's pageant and I was 'volunteered' to be the donkey."

Sam knew what it cost his brother to go back to that place and time, but there was a spark in his brother's eyes that no other subject in Dean's storytelling repertoire-cars, women, hunts- could bring about. So he listened with rapt attention as Dean continued.

"Man, that costume was itchy, and the ears dug into the side of my head. But mom just loved seeing me dressed up, thought it was even cuter then my Halloween costume. Who was I to argue?"

"Even as a toddler, you're so modest." Sam teased and Dean flicked his brother's head.

"You want to hear this or not? So come Christmas Eve all the animals had this dumb little song we had to sing, and we got to my part of the song…and I froze."

"Let me guess- you forgot your lines and ran off stage?"

"Better than that- I managed to set the stable backdrop on fire." Dean said. "Little kids and candles don't mix, and I knocked down a couple of the shepherds holding them while running to Dad. All the kids were screaming, it was pretty much chaos until the preacher came in with the fire extinguisher."

Sam could only grin. "Wow. And here I thought the pyromania and causing mass panic didn't hit you 'til middle school."

"Shut up, wasn't all my fault- stupid kids shouldn't have gotten in my way. Needless to say they cut the program short. We went home early and Mom made dad and me hot cocoa and cookies. And then you know, next morning was Christmas, presents, yada yada yada..."

Dean's lip quirked as he trailed off, watching images only his mind's eye could see. He scratched a phantom itch from where a pair of gray and pink felt ears had lingered too long, years ago.

Precious and few were the glimpses Sam had of his family before the fire, and almost always they were through Dean's eyes. There were no words to thank his brother enough for every memory he shared…unless they were smart-alecky ones.

"So what you're saying is, Mom always knew you were an ass."


End file.
